


Not Fine Enough

by gingerdean



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Asthma, Dean Being Dean, Dean Has Allergies, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Sam Being Sam, Season/Series 01, Set between Scarecrow and Faith, Sneezing, like really bad allergies, otherwise canon compliant, teenchester flashbacks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-08
Updated: 2017-01-15
Packaged: 2018-09-15 16:48:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9246068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gingerdean/pseuds/gingerdean
Summary: Prompt from tarotgal's 2015 comment fic meme:So Dean has always had pretty bad allergies, ever since he was a kid. And when Sam was younger, he always just sort of accepted Dean's allergies as a matter-of-fact. Dean would suffer through them quietly and without complaint, and Sam never really thought too much of it.So fast forward to Season 1, and Dean's allergies have apparently gotten quite a bit worse during the last four years that Sam was away. And for the first time, Sam really starts to take notice of how bad Dean's allergy symptoms are, and starts to realize how much Dean must have been suffering for all these years. How did Sam never realize this before?So then Sam starts inquiring to Dean about his allergies and looking into treatments for him. (Which makes Dean really uncomfortable, unaccustomed as he is to thinking about his own well-being.)(Part 1 takes place pre-series - Sam is 13 (almost 14), and Dean is 18. Part 2 onward will take place during Season 1, between Scarecrow and Faith. No spoilers past mid-season 1.)





	1. Chapter 1

March 23rd, 1997 

\-------------- 

 

"Hih-g' _hiiiiishhh_ 'uh!" 

 

 

Sam pried his eyes open sluggishly, and reached a lazy arm towards the clock that sat on his bedside table. He fished his hand around for the snooze button, but it took him a few moments to realize that his alarm wasn't even going off yet. _Huh_. Well, _something_ had just pulled him out of a damn peaceful sleep, and if wasn't his alarm, that probably only left one thing... 

 

Sam rubbed his eyes and squinted towards a faint sniffling sound in the far corner of the room, where his big brother was sitting cross-legged on his own disheveled bed. He was clad in a faded, black Metallica t-shirt and a pair of too-long, flannel pajama bottoms that Sam was pretty sure used to belong to their dad. A cloud of tissues was poised in front of Dean's nose, as a hazy, screwed-up expression slowly blossomed across his face. Sam watched drowsily, as Dean reared his head back several times, then finally lunged forward with a tired-sounding sneeze. A loud, trumpeting noise promptly filled the room, as Dean proceeded to blow his nose hard and long. 

 

Sam shook his head and grunted in annoyance, as he rubbed the gritty remnants of sleep out of his eyes. Waking up to the sound of his big brother's snuffling, snorting and sneezing was an all-too frequent occurrence for Sam - and unfortunately for him, this wake-up call often occurred well before the time of day that Sam actually _needed_ to wake up. Sam threw his forearm across his face with dramatic flair, and huffed loudly. " _Jeeez_ , Dean. Would it kill you to keep it down over there?" 

 

Dean turned his head and blinked towards Sam, with a glazed-over, confused expression on his face. "Hmm...what?" _Snifff_! 

 

"You woke me up, you jerk." Sam sighed as he sat upright, yawning and stretching his gangly arms above his head. 

 

Dean groaned softly, smothered yet another sneeze into the mass of tissues, then cleared his throat. "Sorry Sammy", he grunted. Sam could hear a faint popping noise from his big brother's recently-twisted left knee as Dean pulled himself out of bed. "I'm making eggs this morning. You want 'em scrambled?" 

 

Sam briefly considered this. "Do we have any cheese to go on top?" 

 

"Nope. Sorry." 

 

Sam made a face. 

 

Dean sighed. "Fine. You want French toast again? I think we've got a little syrup left." 

 

Sam grinned. 

 

>>>>>

 

 

Twenty minutes later, Sam strode out of the bathroom, freshly showered and dressed. Dean was sitting hunched over at the kitchen table with his eyes squeezed shut, the palm of one hand pressed hard against his right eye. His other hand was clutching what appeared to be the same clump of tissues he had been fisting earlier. Gross. Sam grimaced. "I hope you washed your hands before cooking breakfast, Dean." 

 

Dean's head bobbed upwards as he winced towards his little brother. "Shut up and eat your breakfast, runt. French toast is on the counter." 

 

"Yeah, I see it. Looks good, Dean." Sam eagerly went to retrieve his plate, and the half-empty glass bottle of syrup that sat next to it. Dean had smuggled several miniature take-home bottles of syrup from a small mom-and-pop diner a couple of weeks prior, when Pastor Jim had treated the boys to breakfast during a brief layover in Blue Earth. Syrup was a fairly expensive non-necessity that the Winchesters rarely had the pleasure of enjoying at home, so it'd been quite a treat while it had lasted. 

 

Sam took a seat across from his brother, and shoveled a huge, sticky wad of French toast into his mouth. Dean had his dry portion sitting neatly in front of him, which he had barely touched thus far. He was poking at it absently with his fork, with his other hand cradling his forehead, gently massaging his right temple with his thumb. 

 

Sam glanced up at his brother, eyebrows raised. "What's up, Dean? You got a headache again?" 

 

Dean rubbed his hand over his face, then flashed a weak smile towards his brother. "A little...Not too bad. S' just the weather." 

 

Sam shrugged. "You always say that." Yeah, because Dean did always say that - Dean blamed "the weather" for every ache, pain, cough, sneeze and sniffle that ever plagued him. 

 

Dean had suffered from seasonal allergies for as far back as Sam could remember, and springtime always did seem to hit him the hardest. (Although he never seemed to fare that much better in the fall, either.) Some days, months, and areas of the country seemed to be harder on him than others, although Sam never did completely understand the rhyme or reason to it all. Not that he usually gave the matter too much thought - Other than the occasional grumble and complaint, Dean was never interested in discussing the subject with Sam, and preferred to work through his allergies quietly (or as quietly as he could, anyway). So Sam mostly just left him to it, and never really thought too hard on the matter. Dean's allergies were just a staple of the Winchester day-to-day life - just like the painful, aching growing pains in Sam's legs that he had to endure on occasion, and the migraine attacks their Dad would suffer through from time to time. Dean, for his part, simply took his allergies in stride and said little about it, so Sam took his cue from him, and did the same. 

 

That didn't mean that his brother's allergies weren't an annoyance at times, especially when they got bad - a fact Sam was reminded of that morning, as he sat listening to the almost-constant sniffling, sighing and throat clearing coming from the other side of the table. Sam bit his tongue and continued to inhale his breakfast, until he glanced beneath table, noticing that Dean was flexing and extending his left leg. Sam frowned. "How's your knee feeling, Dean?" 

 

Dean shrugged. "It's fine. Good as new, actually." Dean took a large swig of water, wincing as he swallowed. "Was never that bad to begin with... No reason for dad to bench me during this hunt", Dean muttered under his breath. 

 

Sam shrugged. "He just doesn't want you getting hurt, you know." Sam didn't often find himself in the position of siding with his dad on...well, anything really, but he was glad that he had made Dean stay behind for this hunt. Sam could tell Dean's knee was bothering him more than he was letting on - he'd caught Dean lying in bed with an ice pack on his knee the evening prior. "Besides", Sam added, "Would you really want me staying here by myself, in this neighborhood, without you around? Come _on_ , Dean. You'll barely even let me leave the room by myself. " 

 

"You wouldn't be staying in _this_ shithole if you were by yourself. I'd have made damn sure of that." Dean sniffed loudly for the umpteenth time that morning, then swiped roughly at his nose with the sleeve of his shirt. Sam grimaced. He knew Dean couldn't help his allergies, but did he have to be so gross about it? Sam scrunched his nose as he changed the subject. "You're a mess this morning, Dean. Are you gonna get dressed for school, or what? You haven't even showered yet." 

 

Dean shrugged as his face assumed a familiar, distant expression, his eyes narrowed and mouth agape. He ripped off a paper towel from the roll sitting on the table, and folded it over his nose, just in time to smother a huge sneeze into it...followed by a second one several seconds later. Dean cleared his throat and rubbed the paper towel over his watery eyes, sniffling. "Not today, Sam. Gonna start some research on that vengeful spirit case Uncle Bobby has lined up for Dad. Then I'm gonna start cleaning up a bit - Dad'll be home any day now, and he's gonna want to head out right away whenever he gets back." 

 

Sam glanced at Dean, warily. Dean's already-spotty attendance record at school had been plummeting more than ever the last couple of months. The increased level of apathy that Dean had developed towards school lately was seriously starting to worry Sam. He hoped his brother wasn't thinking of dropping out. Especially not when he was finally so close to graduating. 

 

Dean suddenly let out a frustrated sigh, swiveled around in his chair, and let out yet another muffled sneeze, this time into the bend of his arm. Sam frowned. Dean was really sneezing a lot this morning - more than usual for this time of day, Sam noticed - and his eyes were already red-rimmed and puffy. And he hadn't even gone outside yet. Today was going to be pretty rough on him, Sam could already tell. In fact, now that he thought about it, that was probably the real reason why Dean wasn't going to school today. Dean hated going to school when his allergies got this bad. He always tried to play it off, act like he was too cool to care. But Sam knew it embarrassed him just the same. 

 

Just as Sam was considering pressing the matter further, he glanced at the clock on the bedside table, and gasped. "Oh man, I forgot...I was supposed to meet Dana before school today to go over our history presentation for tomorrow. I gotta go!" Sam jumped up from the table and started gathering up his books and folders that were sitting on the countertop. 

 

"Whoa there, Sammy. Gimme a minute... I gotta throw on some jeans first." Dean pushed his breakfast plate aside and moved to get up from the table, wincing noticeably as he straightened out his "good as new" left knee. He hacked dryly into his fist as he limped his way across the room, at a much slower pace than Sam approved of. 

 

Sam paced around the room as he waited for Dean to emerge from the bathroom. He could hear the faint sounds of Dean clearing his throat several times, then blowing his nose - which was then followed by a loud sneeze. Sam huffed loudly, looking over at the clock again. "Come _on_ Dean! You're gonna make me late! Just let me go by myself, would you? I'll be fine." 

 

Dean emerged from the bathroom with red, puffy eyes and a warning look on his face. "I'm not going to have this fucking argument again, Sammy. I'm walking with you, and that's the end of it. Bitch to me about it again, and being late for your date with History Project Chick will be the least of your worries." 

 

Sam clammed up immediately after that. Dean wasn't screwing around on this, and Sam damn well knew it. The Winchesters were no strangers to run-down, shady living quarters, but apparently, the motel they were currently staying at was right in the middle of a hotbed of gang activity that was rampant in the immediate area. Dean had also been keeping a critical eye on the room three doors down from their own, as he was all but certain that drug dealings were being conducted there during the later hours of the night. The idea of their dad leaving them in a place like this alone, in the interest of keeping them 'safe', was almost a laughable concept. But, that was John Winchester for you. He always had a well-thought out, calculated plan as far as his family was concerned - which was invariably riddled with ridiculous lapses in judgement, such as this. 

 

Sam huffed loudly and deliberately once more, as Dean sat down on Sam's bed to pull on his boots. Once again, a loud, drawn-out sneeze from Dean served to elongate the process. Dean scowled up at Sam as he finished tying his boots. "Stop pacing around man, you're driving me n _ih...hii_...nuts. Hng' _iiishhh_ ooo!." 

 

Sam rolled his eyes. "Stop sneezing. You're driving _me_ nuts." 

 

"Ah, bite me." Dean rubbed hard at his nose and glanced around the room. "Now...what the hell did I do with my...." He snapped his fingers and walked back across the room to the bedside table, retrieved his switchblade knife from the top drawer, and shoved it deep into his pants pocket. 

 

"Jesus, Dean, come _on_ ", Sam muttered, glancing at the clock one more time, for good measure. Sam knew he was being an ass, But dammit, he didn't have time to just stand around and watch his normally quick-moving brother meander around the room like a lost puppy. That Dana girl was awfully pretty, and smart, and the thought of keeping her waiting was making Sam's stomach tie into knots. 

 

"Finally", Sam muttered, as Dean worked his way down the locks on the door, then and kicked aside his homemade wooden door stop that was wedged beneath the door. Sam felt his rattled nerves ease off a bit once he stepped outside. The sun was shining bright, and there was a soft, cool breeze wafting through the air. Sam blinked in the sunlight, and smiled. "Hey. At least it's nice out today." 

 

Dean swallowed, took a deep breath, and followed his brother out into the abyss of sticky, pollen-saturated air, with the countenance of a man walking into a dental office for root canal surgery. 

 

"Oh, yeah. It's... Huh- _gishhh_ -uh! ...It's freakin' _awesome_ out here."


	2. Chapter 2

Mid-April, 2006

 

Just outside of Burkittsville, Indiana

 

After returning from the apple orchard to burn the First Tree, and then saying their goodbyes to Emily at the bus station, Sam and Dean set out to put Burkittsville in their rearview mirror as quickly as possible. Leaving town, the brothers started out westward, albeit with no destination in mind as of yet. Sam knew it was no coincidence that they were heading towards their dad's last known location in Sacramento. It was a pointless gesture, and they both knew it - Their dad would be long gone by now, more than likely, even if they did decide to book it all the way to California.

No, they both knew they weren't going to go there, not now. But somehow it just felt better to have the car moving towards that general direction.

The fight with Dean still weighed heavily on Sam's mind, as was the guilt of knowing what probably would have transpired in the orchard last night, had Sam decided to ignore his gut and continue on to California, instead of having Dean's back like he should have. Sam knew Dean was feeling regret for some of the things he'd said as well, and the mood in the car was a somber one, heavy with still-hurt feelings and unspoken apologies.

Back in Burkitsville, Dean had made the uncharacteristic move of tossing Sam the keys, and sliding into the passenger seat of the car as the brothers prepared to leave. Under the circumstances, the act wasn't quite as shocking as it might have appeared on the surface- Dean was truly a mess, in more ways than one. Among other issues, he was definitely sporting a headache - one of his bad ones, not one of the mild, nagging aches that he'd been suffering with off-and-on, ever since he'd picked Sam up from Stanford. Dean had mentioned to Sam that he'd been on the receiving end of the butt of a shotgun at some point during the hunt. Judging from the nasty welts and bruising that surrounded his left eye, it was easy for Sam to tell where the contact had taken place. The little that Dean did mention about the injury had implied a loss of consciousness at some point during the ordeal, which probably meant that he was nursing a mild concussion as well.

It didn't escape Sam's notice that Dean kept wincing and running his hand across the right side of his chest as well. It eventually registered to Sam that Dean probably hadn't yet recovered from the chest full of rock salt that Sam had shot at him at point-blank range, back at the Asylum earlier that week.

As if this all wasn't enough to contend with, Dean's allergies were clearly adding yet another layer of discomfort to his already-miserable disposition. Springtime was heavy in the air, and Dean had been sniffling and sneezing accordingly for weeks now. But the extended stay in the apple orchard seemed to have ramped up Dean's misery to another level. When Sam located Dean and Emily in the orchard the night prior, he'd found a streaming, snotty, congested mess of an older brother waiting for him. There was a wet stain on the left side of his shirt, practically saturating his entire sleeve, where he'd no doubt been swiping at his dripping face the entire time he was there. Of course, this hardly registered to Sam at the time, since he had much more pressing matters to contend with just then. But looking back on it, Sam couldn't help thinking about how miserable Dean must have been, strung up for hours on end and suffering through an allergy attack without being able to even do so much as scratch at his nose.

 _Oh well._ It was over now, and Dean had dealt with worse things, after all. Much worse, on many an occasion. 

Despite the fact that he knew it would piss Dean off, The next morning Sam had suggested that Dean stay out of the orchard and let Sam take care of the tree-burning himself. And of course, Dean adamantly refused. Like hell if he was going to stay behind and let Sam torch the bastard into oblivion without him, especially after Dean had done all of the dirty leg work for the case by himself.

So Dean sniffled, sneezed and grumbled his way through the tree burning - And afterwards, spent the next several minutes coughing and hacking so bad, that Sam actually started to become alarmed at one point, when Dean's face started to turn fire-engine red from the exertion. "Jus' got some smoke in my lungs", Dean had rasped out, in-between coughs. Sam nodded warily, and pretended as best he could that he wasn't concerned. The coughing petered out shortly after, and the brothers continued on with business as usual.

Now, the brothers were about three hours out of Burkittsville, and Dean was sawing logs in the passenger seat, after finally settling into a restless sleep. Sam took the opportunity to briefly size up his tattered, allergy-ridden brother. The desperate coughing fit that had come over him earlier still concerned Sam, as did the angry clusters of hives that sprouted up on Dean's neck and the backs of his hands the evening prior (and were no doubt on other areas of his body that Sam wasn't able to see). The hives were, no doubt, triggered by something Dean came in contact with back in the orchard, and Sam thought that the pollen from the trees were the most likely culprit. But still, Sam felt it was an odd reaction for his brother to have, considering the fact that hives were not a usual symptom for Dean to develop in any instance. In fact, the last time Sam saw Dean covered in hives was when Dean was fourteen years old, the day that the Winchesters learned of Dean's severe allergy to penicillin. That was a particularly frightening memory for Sam - Images of his big brother sprawled out on the bathroom floor of their hotel room, wheezing and gasping for air, still haunted Sam's memories to this day.

So, yeah. The hives were unsettling, to say the least, and not something that Sam ever wished to see on his brother ever again, under any circumstance.

Not even twenty minutes after falling asleep, Dean woke up with a light cough. A sudden sneeze tumbled out of him before he had the chance to brace himself, and Dean gasped loudly in the aftermath, as he pressed one hand to his forehead and hugged his other arm across his chest. Sam winced, as Dean's body spasmed into itself as he silently stifled one more sneeze into his chest. He groaned, and then sank miserably into his seat with his arms folded across his chest, sniffing wetly.

"Bless you", offered Sam, once he was fairly certain Dean was done. "You alright?"

Dean grunted in response, and Sam watched Dean pull a couple of medicine bottles from the glove compartment, which Sam recognized as Ibuprofen and Benadryl. Dean fiddled with the bottle lids and dry-swallowed four pills from one bottle and two from the other. Dean settled back down in his seat, scratching roughly at wrist, and then at his neck.

"Dude. Stop scratching at that." Sam had to restrain himself from reaching out and knocking his brother's hand away. "You're gonna make it worse."

Dean shot Sam a glare. "Lay off. It fucking itches." Dean glanced downward, and pulled the straw out of a styrofoam cup that was lying on the floorboard. He reached his arm over his head and started poking the straw down his back beneath his shirt, grimacing.

 

Sam shot Dean a crazy look. "What the hell are you _doing_?"

"Scratchin' my back....I can't reach where it itches."

"Like that stupid straw is going to help any? Sam huffed loudly, shaking his head. "You're such an idiot. Put some more of that ointment on." 

"It's in the trunk. God dammit, my _nose_....." Dean abruptly pulled the straw back out, flung it into Sam's lap, and started rubbing at his nose again almost frantically. Several seconds of his breath hitching wildly finally gave way to a loud, violent sneeze.

And that was pretty much the breaking point for Sam. He didn't think he could stand five more minutes in the car with his brother like this. He made an executive decision and pulled the Impala towards the oncoming off-ramp. Dean straightened up in his seat and blinked over at Sam. "Where d'ya think you're going?"

"We're stopping." Sam snapped on his blinker as he guided the Impala in the direction of a run-down roadside motel. "You're a mess, Dean. And I'm exhausted. It's time for us to take five and regroup, man."

Dean scowled, rubbing a palm across his face. "This is exactly why nobody else drives my baby except me." Dean glared at Sam. "It's the middle of the day, Sam. We should be good for another five or six hours, at least....hiiii- _eh'CHIII-_ huh."

"Bless you. Come on man, Will you please just go with me on this one? Besides...what was it that you told me awhile back...something about shotgun shutting his cakehole?" Sam grinned, as he pulled into the parking lot and turned off the ignition. "Where are we in such a hurry to run off to, anyway?"

Dean turned his head around and gazed back towards the road, silently. _Towards California_ , Sam thought to himself, with a pang in his chest. Dean shrugged, swiped his wrist roughly beneath his nose, then turned his head to eyeball the hotel. "This really the best place you can find? This is a fucking dump, man."

Sam looked at Dean with growing irritation. "Oh, I'm _so_ sorry. You want me to find a place that offers up a jacuzzi and a wine bath?" Sam tossed they keys in Dean's lap, then climbed out of the Impala and slammed the door shut. "Since when did you get so damn picky, anyway?" Geez. Dean had become aggravatingly choosy about which hotels the brothers could stay at- a new peculiarity that had been baffling Sam ever since Dean picked him up from Stanford. Dean was a lot of things, but prissy about his living quarters was never one of them.

Dean looked back over at the hotel, a noticeable wince across his eyes. Finally, he sighed, running a hand across his face. "Fine. Whatever. I'll go check in.... _hng-isshhh'huh_....You go run and fetch us some grub." Dean sniffed and threw the keys back to Sam, hard enough to make Sam's palm sting as he caught them in mid-air. "I'll text you our room number. And don't even think about coming back without some pie."

Sam turned a circle and took stock of his surroundings. "Where the hell am I going to find pie around here, Dean?"

"This little pit stop was your idea, genius. Figure it out." Dean shot Sam a smirk and started towards the motel. Sam rolled his eyes and lowered himself back into the car. Dean was not happy at all about this little unauthorized hotel stay, and apparently he was going to make Sam pay by being as big a pain-in-the-ass about it as possible.

 

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

 

Sam entered their hotel room twenty-five minutes later, with two grease-stained bags of food, and a six pack of beer dangling from his fingertips. He found Dean hunched over the table, staring down at a newspaper.

 

Sam walked towards his brother and tossed the food on the table. "Where'd you get the paper?"

Dean shrugged, shaking out the wrinkles and folding it into fourths. "Lady at the front desk had one. Would you believe I might've just found us a case?"

Sam sighed, rubbing at his eyes. This was the last thing they needed at the moment. "Dude, you can't be serious. What are the chances of stumbling into a case _here_? In some random, one-horse town that we just happen to be passing through?"

 

Dean shrugged. "Stranger things have happened, Sam. Go ahead....huh- _GIHSHHH-_ hih!... see for yourself." Dean ran his knuckles under his nose and turned the paper towards Sam. "Sandy Harvey and Lorraine Smith." He pointed at a small, blurry picture of two women who appeared to be in their early twenties, arms dangling over each other's shoulders. Dean opened his mouth as if to speak again, and frowned. What at first appeared to be an impending sneeze instead turned out to be a loud, drawn out yawn. Dean shook his head just a bit in the aftermath, then pitched forward suddenly with another quick, light sneeze into his fist.

Sam shifted from one foot to the other, rubbing at his tired eyes. "Bless you...Still waiting to here the punchline here, Dean. Why do you think this is our kind of thing?"

Dean cleared his throat and tried again. "So, these two women were in their early twenties. They were best friends - lived together in town. And they both died three weeks ago in a drowning accident. Apparently Ms. Harvey drove her car off a bridge and into a lake about a mile south of here, with Ms. Smith in the passenger seat. They were found dead inside the car only about a half-hour after they'd drowned." Dean flipped the paper over and pointed to a different paragraph in the same article. "Three months ago- A local male, mid-twenties, was found deceased in a shallow part of the same lake. The cause of death was also ruled a drowning. It says here that the circumstances surrounding his death are still unclear." Dean looked up at Sam earnestly. "Kind of weird, don't you think?"

Sam continued to skim through the article, then looked at Dean and shrugged. "Yeah...I guess. So, you think we're dealing with, what...another vengeful spirit? Like what happened at Lake Manitoc?" Sam ran his hand over his chin a couple times, then shook his head. " Dude, I know this hits a nerve a little after that case in Wisconsin, but-"

Dean glared at Sam. "That has _nothing_ to do with this." Dean pushed the newspaper into Sam's chest, then yanked a beer out of the plastic ring and cracked it open. "Look Sam, maybe it's nothing", Dean conceded, rubbing his hand over his eyes. "Hell, you're right, it probably is nothing...nothing for us, I mean. But we still need check it out." Dean took a long swig of his beer and cleared his throat. "Let's eat and get cleaned up. Then you're gonna be a good little geekboy, get on your computer, and see what you can find out about other recent deaths in the area."

 

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

An hour later, the brothers were fed, showered, and two more beers into the evening. The Benadryl was clearly taking it's toll on Dean, who was sitting in one of the beds against the headboard, eyes drifting closed. Sam was tapping away at his keyboard, researching the history of the town of Roma, Illinois.

 

About ten minutes later, Sam shook his head. "I'm not finding much to go on, Dean. The town's been pretty quiet for a long time, aside from these two recent incidents...and the local lore is pretty benign. I can't find any other deaths attributed to the lake in any way." Sam looked up at Dean, who was starting to slump over in the bed. Sam wasn't even sure if he was listening at this point. He cleared his throat loudly and continued. "I also found some more details on the most recent case, with the two female victims. Apparently the two women were driving on one of the...back roads...before they were..." Sam trailed off as Dean started to sneeze again. Sam waited out one...two... _three_ explosions from his brother, then leaned back in his seat as Dean doubled over with a dry, hacking cough. Sam looked at Dean, warily. "Dude, is that Benedryl doing _anything_ for you?"

 

Dean shrugged indifferently. He glanced down at his arms, then pulled down the neck of his shirt. "A little, I guess. Hives are better. Dean reared his head back, and sneezed two more times, in rapid succession.

Sam chewed on his lower lip. "Your sneezing's getting worse again." He waited again while Dean blew his nose several times into the scratchy hotel tissues. "There's a gas station not far from here. You want me to get you something else to take?" Sam was getting a bit concerned by how fucking awful his brother sounded. He'd really thought that Dean grabbing a shower and sitting indoors for awhile would have given him more relief by now.

 

Dean waved Sam off with his tissue-filled hand and an annoyed look on his face. I've got something I can take. I'm good." Dean rubbed a palm against his chest with a noticeable wince.

"Are your ribs bothering you? How's your head feeling?"

Dean shot Sam an exasperated look. "All of my freaking body parts are _fine_ , Sam. Jesus. Enough with the third degree, already." Dean cleared his throat and re-assumed his previous position in bed, allowing his eyes to drift closed again. "Come on, now. What were you saying about that first case?"

 

"Umm..." Sam looked back at the computer screen, trying to figure out where he'd left off. "Ok...so...there is a ton of information that was left out of that newspaper article. Apparently the two women were driving down a country road a couple of miles away, and then speed off after a policeman tried to pull them over for a routine moving violation. Also...both women were pending trial for several drug-related charges, including trafficking. Looks like they were facing some pretty heavy-duty prison time." Sam looked over towards his brother. "I don't know, Dean. Sounds a little more like they pulled a Thelma and Louise than something supernatural-related. Or they might've been under the influence. Who knows. Toxicology reports haven't been released yet."

Dean opened one eye towards Sam, looking confused. "They pulled a...who? What're you talkin about?"

"I said, they might've pulled a Thelma and Louise. You know...drove off the bridge on purpose?" Sam looked at Dean's blank face and sighed. "Dude, come _on_ , I know you've seen that movie. I've watched it with you myself at least twice."

Dean shrugged groggily, as his eyes drifted closed again. "It doesn't.... _k'hishhh'hew!...._ doesn't ring a bell, Sammy." Dean's eyes suddenly popped wide open, and he snapped his fingers. "Wait! Thelma and - Aww, yeah, I remember." A hazy look of comprehension came over Dean's face. Then he grinned and pointed an index finger towards Sam, sniffing loudly. "Hasenpfeffer Incorporated! The chicks on the bike!" Dean frowned. "Don't remember a suicide, though. They drive the bike into a lake or somethin' ?"

 

"That's Laverne and Shirley, Dean. And no, they never rode their bike into a lake." Sam shook his head in disbelief. His patience with Dean was beginning to run on fumes. He'd forgotten how much fun it was to attempt a normal conversation with Dean when he was on Benadryl.

Dean nuzzled his face into his pillow, eyes closed. "Naw, I'm pretty sure...I think they did. I remember...somethin' like that." Dean was drifting off, and his speech was so slurred, Sam could barely even make out what he was saying anymore. "'Cept they were in a car, I think...n'they were in the desert...'n I think that dude from Pulp Fiction was there..."

 

"Harvey Keitel." Sam rolled his eyes. "That's Thelma and Louise, you idiot." _The movie I was fucking talking about in the first place_ , Sam felt like saying. But really, what was the point. Dean was already starting to snore lightly. Sam sighed, and turned off the lamp next to his bed. He couldn't help wincing a little at his brother's raw, reddened nose which was still twitching, even as Dean was drifting off to sleep. Sam just hoped that his stupid nose could stay calm long enough to allow Dean a decent night's rest. Sam grabbed a toilet paper roll out of the bathroom and set it next to his brother's bedside table. He had already used up the one complimentary tissue box that had come with the room.

 

Sam sighed. He knew it had been a miserable couple of days for Dean, and that was the main reason that his attitude was in such rare form today. It had been a miserable last few _weeks_ for him, in fact, now that Sam thought about it. Dean's allergies were always pretty bad in the spring, but _man_ , they were really doing a number on him this year. And prior to that, the winter hadn't exactly been a picnic for him, either. Dean had somehow managed to come down with _two_ separate bouts of bronchitis- one in early December and another in mid-February. All-in-all, he'd pretty much hacked and wheezed his way through the vast majority of the entire cold season. Both illnesses were bad enough that Dean had eventually sought out a doc-in-a-box to prescribe him a legit course of antibiotics - and he'd even actually finished off every last pill that that was prescribed to him, on both occasions.

 

And before that, of course, he'd had his fall allergies to deal with... _sheesh_. Sam racked his brain, trying to remember a time in recent memory that Dean actually looked and felt one hundred percent healthy. The times he could think of were few and far between.

Sam couldn't tear his eyes off Dean for a good couple of minutes after that, then finally glanced away when Dean began to stir unconsciously under the scrutiny. He grunted, stifled a sleepy sneeze into his pillow, and flipped himself over, snoring loudly.

 

"Bless you", Sam mouthed silently, as he headed back to the table. Despite the fact that Dean was basically the sneeziest person that Sam had ever known, Sam never could shake the habit of blessing him every now and again. He almost chuckled to himself, wondering briefly how many blessings he had offered to Dean over the years. _Dean should be the most blessed person on the planet....so much for that_ , Sam thought bitterly. Maybe he should start cursing him instead, see if that would change their luck any.

 

Despite the lack of sleep from the last few days, Sam suddenly didn't feel all that tired now. His thoughts began to shift away to Jessica, as they often did around this time of night, and a familiar pang of grief and yearning clenched tightly in his chest. Sam sat back down at the table in front of his computer, and cracked open the last remaining beer.

 

 

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<


	3. Chapter 3

Apparently, a decent night's rest was not in the cards for either of the Winchester brothers that night. It was now well past 1:00 am, and Sam was still awake, alternately fiddling around on his computer, watching the TV on mute, and mentally kicking himself for not buying a case of beer earlier, instead of just a six-pack. 

Sam begrudgingly honored his brother's request from earlier, and spent some more time researching the 'case' that Dean had stumbled across earlier that evening. Dean had passed out before Sam could fill him in on the rest of the information he'd found about the drowning victims earlier, but at this point, Sam was fairly well-convinced that there was nothing resembling a case to be had here. Still, in his bordom, he spent another couple of hours digging around on the internet for every piece of information he could find. Sam mainly focused his research on the male drowning victim's death, because while he had found plenty of news articles detailing the circumstances of the two female victims' drownings, for some reason he was having great difficulty finding any details whatsoever surrounding the male drowning victim. He couldn't even find an announcement for his death in the local obituary. 

 

A muffled sneeze rang out from the direction of Dean's bed, and Sam turned to glance at the brotherly lump protruding from beneath the covers. The Benedryl, Sam noticed, appeared to have rid Dean of his hives, but it wasn't able to work miracles, apparently. Ever since he'd first drifted to sleep, Dean had woken himself up every twenty minutes or so, with either a cough or a sneeze or two (or both), which would in turn be followed by Dean tossing, turning and thumping around in his bed so hard that it would rattle the floor beneath Sam's feet. After that, he'd quickly doze off again, and the silence in the room would be interrupted by irregular bouts of loud, congested snoring. 

 

Sam shook his head and sighed, then returned to his task of digging up any information he could find on Mr. Edwin Campbell, the male drowning victim. Again, he was met with the same frustrating lack of details as before. Sam _did_ learn that the man hailed from a family that was apparently very predominant and well-respected in this neck of the woods. The man's uncle was, in fact, the county coroner, and his brother was the mayor of a nearby town about twenty miles south of Roma. The passing of a man with such notable connections should have been a pretty important news topic for such a sleepy little town, and yet, Sam could barely find any other mentions of the man's death at all, other than the brief article in the paper that Dean found yesterday. The only thing he did find was a short news article from a newspaper from an adjoining town, which attributed the mysterious drowning to "unknown circumstances". Those words raised an automatic red-flag in the Supernatural World, and Sam knew that once Dean was made aware of this, he would insist on investigating matters further, before he would be willing to consider this 'case' a bust. 

 

 _Oh well. Why the hell not_ , Sam thought to himself, as he pushed his computer aside, and stretched his arms above his head with a mighty yawn. At least investigating a non-case would allow Dean a physical break (if not exactly a mental one), and he could finally allow his body some time to heal up, before they went diving into another case. _A win-win after all_ , Sam decided, as he leaned back in his chair and briefly allowed his eyes to drift closed. 

 

>>>>>>>>>>

 

"Come _on_ , dude. Are you gonna sleep all day?" 

 

Sam's eyes popped open, and he squinted upwards, suddenly aware that an indeterminate amount of time had passed. He was met with the sight of his brother towering over him, his face hovering annoyingly close to his own. "Rise and shine, Sammy," said Dean, with a wide grin. 

 

"Dean?" Sam looked back at him in confusion, and rubbed at his blurry eyes. "When did...What time is it?"

 

"Almost seven-thirty in the A.M, Sleeping Beauty." Dean reached over to ruffle Sam's hair, and Sam reached up to knock his brother's hand off of him. He missed by a mile, as Dean quickly ducked away, snickering. 

 

A few moments later, Dean looked back and shot Sam an irritated look. "You know, we could have just bunked up in the Impala, if you wanted to sleep in the damn chair all night." Dean frowned disapprovingly. "And that's not good for your back, you know. Sleeping like that. You need to take advantage of having a real bed when you can get it, bro." 

 

 _"Ugh."_ Sam rolled his stiff neck around in a circle, and he felt a warm tingling sensation spread through his legs as he stretched them out, allowing his blood to re-circulate. He must have been beyond exhausted to have fallen asleep like that. Apparently, night-after-night of suffering through nightmares and restless, broken sleep had finally caught up with him. 

 

Sam heard the familiar early-morning sound of his brother letting loose a couple of quick sneezes, and when he looked up at Dean with a clear eye for the first time that morning, his eyes widened. Dean looked _awful_. His face was drawn and pale, and even from across the room, Sam could tell that his eyes were completely bloodshot, a vile, crimson red occupying the space where the whites of Dean's eyes _should_ be. Sam frowned. "Dude...what the hell's the matter with your eyes?"

"Huh?" Dean was distracted, sitting on his bed and rooting through his duffel bag with one hand, digging around for God-knows-what. Dean looked up at Sam, who was now hovering several feet over Dean's head. Dean glared upwards at his little brother. _"What?"_

Sam studied Dean's face for a moment, frowning. "Dude, that....that looks _terrible_." Sam scratched his chin, as he continued to size up the situation with his brother. "What the hell, man? You have pinkeye, or something?"

"What? _No._ Geez, personal space, dude." Dean stood up, pushing Sam away as he did so, and turned around with the bag of cough drops he'd procured from his duffel bag. "Look man, it's not as bad as it looks." Dean waved his hand around in front of his red, puffy eyes, and sniffled. "It's just all the pollen and shit in the air catching up with me. Happens sometimes. No big deal." 

"Since _when_? " Sam shook his head at Dean in bafflement. "I've never seen your eyes look _that_ bad before, man." 

"Yeah, well you haven't exactly been around for awhile now, have you," Dean mumbled, as he sat back down on the bed, rubbing a fist into his eye like a small child. "Fucking itches, though," he conceded. " _Shit."_ Dean tossed the bag of cough drops on the bed, and reached over to grab several fast food napkins off the bedside table. He proceeded to rub the napkins hard into his eyes with both hands, and shit, that really couldn't be good for him. Sam couldn't stop himself from swatting at Dean's arm. "Cut it out, man, you're gonna make it worse. Just...hold on a second."

Sam disappeared into the bathroom, turned on the faucet, and returned a minute later with a dampened washcloth. He handed it over to his brother. "Here. Put this over your eyes for a little bit."

Dean appeared to cooperate as he accepted the washcloth, but frowned as soon as he grabbed it out of Sam's hand. He scowled, and held it back out to Sam. "Dude, this isn't gonna help."

Sam sighed. "Quit being so damn stubborn, Dean. Just do it, before your eyes swell completely shut."

Dean stared Sam down with a deathly glare. "Look. If you're gonna hassle me about this shit, at least do something that's gonna help." Dean balled up the washcloth and threw it at Sam's chest. "Go run that under some _cold_ water. The heat'll just make the swelling worse, genius."

"Oh...okay." Huh. That made sense. "Sorry....I'll be right back." Sam quietly retreated to the bathroom, feeling like a Grade A idiot, or at least the worst brother that ever walked the earth. _Cold, not warm_. He should have known that, and not just from a common-sense perspective, either. Sam felt a disproportionate amount of guilt suddenly wash over him. It shouldn't have been a big deal, but really...it was. If the tables were turned, Dean would know exactly what to do. He'd never make a mistake like that.

Sam returned the washcloth to Dean, who laid back on the bed compliantly, and placed the washcloth over his eyes. He kept it in place for a grand total of three minutes, which was actually three minutes longer than Sam had originally anticipated he would. But then Dean had to sneeze, and he responded by utilizing the washcloth as an emergency tissue. And that was the end of that.

Sam attempted to offer Dean another cold washcloth, but Dean refused, and waved off Sam's protest before he could get it out of his mouth. "It's fine, dude. I'll live." Dean coughed several times into his sleeve, then finished unwrapping the cough drop he had procured from his duffel bag a few minutes earlier. He popped the lozenge in his mouth, and headed into the bathroom.

Sam glared at the abandoned wrapper Dean had thrown on the floor, then went to pick it up, along with several others he had left scattered across the floor. It was a familiar scene, reminiscent of when they were kids- Dean was _always_ leaving his abandoned cough drop wrappers all over the room, partially because he knew it annoyed the living hell out of Sam.

Dean would sometimes mow through an entire bag of throat lozenges on days that his allergies were really acting up. Sam remembered Dean once telling him that they helped to relieve the relentless itching in the back of his throat, and also with the sore throats that he sometimes suffered from the post-nasal drip his allergies would cause. Sam glanced at the bag of honey-lemon cough drops Dean had left on the table, next to the television. "I thought you liked the cherry lozenges," he hollered towards the bathroom. "You always said the lemon-flavored kind tasted like ass."

Dean stuck his head out of the bathroom with his toothbrush tucked into his cheek. "Yeah, they do. Lemon-flavored ass." Although with the toothbrush sticking out of his mouth, his words sounded more like "Emmon-favored ash." Dean shrugged, as he spat into the sink, then patted down his face and neck with a towel. "They help more than the cherry ones, though. I think it's the menthol, or...somet _hiii_..." Dean's face screwed up suddenly, and his head shot forward into the towel with a vicious sneeze.

" _Bless_ you." Sam started to ask Dean how he knew what lemon-flavored ass tasted like, but decided to let the subject matter die, instead. Instead, he marveled just a few moments at Dean's ability to both brush his teeth and suck on a throat lozenge at the same time. Sam knew that _he_ would never be able to do it, but then again, Dean always _had_ been a man of many strange (and occasionally pointless) talents. The bathroom door suddenly closed in front of Sam's face, and he heard the sound of the water running in the shower. 

Sam sat down at the table and opened his laptop. He'd come to the realization that he had some research to do - a different type of research than he'd been doing last night. He typed into the search bar: "How to relieve severe eye allergies". 

It was a start.


	4. Chapter 4

Twenty minutes later, Dean re-emerged from the bathroom, showered and dressed....and so congested, Sam could barely even make out what he was saying anymore. And attempting to translate Dean's garbled speech was already beginning to give Sam a headache of his own. 

 

Dean hacked several times into his fist as he grabbed his keys off the nightstand. "I'b goig t'grab breakfadst. Be back id ted binutes." 

 

Sam looked up from his computer screen and blinked. "Come again?" 

 

 _"Breakfadst_ , Sab." Dean suddenly jerked his head to the side, directed two harsh, rapid sneezes into his shoulder, then continued his train of thought with practiced fluidity. "Ady place aroud here with doudnuts?" 

 

"Doud...doughnuts?" Sam shrugged. "Uh, yeah. The gas station I went to last night had some. Grab me a couple glazed. And a coffee too, if it's fresh." Sam hesitated for a moment. "Do you want me to go, instead? You're really starting to sound like crap, dude." 

 

Dean waved his hand dismissively. "I'll be fide. S'jus' the weather...You know how id is." And with that, Dean trudged out the door. 

 

After Dean left, Sam returned to his Dr. Google-ing, thankful that Dean hadn't glanced over his shoulder earlier to see what Sam had been looking at. Sam never did a lot of meddling into Dean's private business, but whenever he did, Dean sure as hell never took very well to it. Sam rolled his eyes. It was going to be like pulling teeth to even get Dean to talk about any of this stuff at all. 

 

Sam browsed through various articles and advice columns, mentally checking off boxes in his head as he read through the various recommendations. 

_Apply cold compresses to the eyes...Already tried that, didn't go over so well. Might try again later._

_Stay indoors, and avoid allergy triggers...Definitely sounds like our best bet right now. Easier said than done, because Dean is a stubborn idiot. Will have to work on that one._

_Eye drops...hmm._ Sam knew that Dean already used eye drops for his allergies; he'd done so for as long as Sam could remember. Sam had no idea what kind they were, but they sure didn't seem to be helping him very much anymore. Dean probably needed something different that would work better for him, but how on earth was Sam going to get him to do that? Dean definitely wouldn't respond well to Sam trying to make changes to his medications. _And really, why should he?_ Sam thought to himself, with a pang of guilt in his chest. What the hell did Sam know about it, anyway? Twenty minutes of browsing around on the Internet sure as hell didn't make Sam qualified to offer him any sort of medical advice.

 

Feeling frustrated and momentarily defeated, Sam closed up his computer as Dean came bursting through the door, fresh from his breakfast run. Sam watched as his big brother marched straight through the room, hastily setting the doughnuts and coffee on the table in front of Sam's laptop, then continuing on into the bathroom. Several seconds later, a thunderous sneeze filled the room. Sam cringed in disgust as he listened to the sound of Dean blowing what sounded to be copious amounts of snot out of his head, for what seemed to go on forever. This was followed by a short, silent pause, then two more harsh-sounding sneezes. Which was followed by even more nose blowing...which was followed by yet _another_ loud sneeze. Sam had already polished off his first doughnut when his brother finally emerged from the bathroom, then collapsed into the chair across from Sam, looking completely spent. 

 

Sam raised his eyebrows at Dean, then pushed the doughnut box in front of him. "You gonna live?" 

 

Dean rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands, then scrubbed through his hair with his hands, clearing his throat. "Uhmm. Maybe." Sam could tell that Dean was averting Sam's appraising gaze, as he snatched a doughnut from the box and angled his chair towards the window, away from Sam's line of sight. 

 

Sam decided not to bother Dean about anything at the moment. He knew he was already treading thin ice with his brother to begin with- a sentiment which was still very mutual, Sam couldn't help but admit. The last thing they needed right now was to get into another fight. It was getting harder and harder for Sam to harbor hard feelings towards his brother at this point, though. Dean looked miserable, exhausted and...unwell. It was the unwell-ness of his appearance that was bothering Sam the most. Even on most of his worst days, "unwell" was not a word that Sam would normally use to describe his brother's appearance. It just...wasn't. 

 

The way Dean kept putting his fist to his chest and taking deep, deliberate breaths was starting to be unnerving to Sam as well. Sam swallowed his last bite of his second doughnut, and cleared his throat. "Are your ribs still bothering you from that rock salt blast?" 

 

Dean looked up at Sam. "Huh? Oh...nah." Dean puffed out his chest and rolled his shoulders, as if testing for pain in his upper torso area. "Nope. Feels pretty good now." 

 

Sam frowned, as he pulled an apple out of his duffel, then tossed the bag on the bed behind him. "Then why do you keep rubbing your chest like that?" 

 

Dean coughed once into the bend of his arm and cleared his throat. "I don't know what you're talking about." 

 

"You've been doing it for days, Dean. And you've been doing it all morning, even more than usual." 

 

Dean shrugged disinterestedly, then tossed Sam one of the local newspapers he'd brought back with him from the gas station. "I guess I could still be a little sore...I dunno. See if you can find any new information about those drownings in there." 

 

Sam rolled his eyes at the obvious change of subject, but complied anyway, munching on his apple as he browsed through the paper. There was no mention of anything at all pertaining to the drowning victims. 

 

Dean sat across the table, sipping at his coffee, and glanced up at his brother. "What the hell is that?" 

 

Sam looked over at Dean, crinkling his brow. "What's what?" 

 

"Where the hell'd that apple come from?" 

 

Sam rolled his eyes. "We just smoked a pagan god in the middle of a freaking apple orchard, Dean. Where do you think it came from?" Sam took another loud bite, and gestured towards his duffel bag. "Want one? I've got a few more." 

 

Dean scrunched his nose. "Nah, I'm good. Hand me over another long john, would you?" 

 

Sam shook his head and pushed the doughnut box towards his brother, scattering tiny bits of glaze and dried chocolate across the table. "You know Dean, it wouldn't kill you to eat some fruit every so often. Or, God forbid, maybe even a vegetable?" 

 

Dean smirked at his brother as he procured his doughnut from the box. "You never know, it could. Better to be safe than sorry." Dean took a huge bite out of his doughnut and grinned, mouth partially open, chocolate frosting caking his lips. 

 

Sam grimaced in disgust. "Yeah, you're right. Your body probably forgot how to process foods with any semblance of nutrition in it." Sam shook his head as he took another generous bite. "You might go into shock if you actually attempted to put something as healthy as an _apple_ into it." 

 

An odd silence filled the room as Dean held Sam's gaze, with an unreadable expression behind his eyes. Finally Dean leaned back in his chair, and shrugged. "Ah, well. There's always apple pie. That counts." 

 

"No. It really doesn't." Sam tossed the apple core across the room, where it banked off the wall and plopped into the wastebasket. "And before you even go there, French fries _still_ do not count as a vegetable." 

 

"Are we really going to have that argument again? Agree to disagree Sammy, 'cuz I'm not backing down on that one. Huh- _nnggnt_...h' _nggt_!" Dean smothered a sudden pair of sneezes into the side of his wrist. He pitched forward violently forward a third time, this time carrying his momentum upward, rising from the table with one hand clasped over his nose, as he made a beeline for the bathroom. Sam sat and sipped at his coffee, as he waited out an encore production of the cacophony of sneezing and noseblowing from earlier. Sam eyed the bathroom door in concern and shook his head, sighing. This was really starting to get ridiculous. 

 

Dean finally emerged from the bathroom with a roll of toilet paper in hand, as he bypassed the table and trudged over to his bed on the other side of the room. He flung himself onto the mattress, clunked his head on the headboard, and closed his swollen eyes with a weary sigh. 

 

Sam sat in the silence for a moment, rubbing his chin, then frowned. "Hey Dean....Don't you think maybe we should-" 

 

Eyes still closed, Dean held a finger in the air towards Sam, sniffling quietly. He sucked in a deep, unsteady breath as he held his tissue in front of his face, eyebrows scrunched in anticipation. Several seconds later, the threatening sneeze apparently left him, and Dean lowered his tissue with a sigh and an experimental nose twitch. He then turned watery eyes towards Sam, gave a quick nod and smiled proudly, as if he'd just figured out the secret to achieving World Peace. 

 

Sam chuckled softly as he came over to sit at the end of Dean's bed. "Nice save." 

 

"Thangks." Dean enveloped his crimson nose into a cloud of tissues, and started blowing for all he was worth. "So, you were sayig?" 

 

"Oh, uh. I've just...I've been doing some thinking about this case you found. And the thing is, I really don't think that there's any reason to... _Oh, for Pete's sake_ ," Sam mumbled to himself, as Dean's face started to screw up yet again. Sam sighed loudly, unable to hide his growing frustration. Attempting to converse with Dean through fractured thoughts and interrupted sentences was starting to grate on his nerves. Sam shifted on the bed impatiently, as Dean laid there with his eyes narrowed, and a blank expression on his face. "Another false alarm?" 

 

Dean frowned, and touched lightly at his nose. "G'not sure yet..." Dean suddenly sat himself straight up in bed. "No, it's... _fuck_ _...huh'EYEESHH_ -huh!" Dean barely had time to catch the sudden sneeze in the crook of his elbow. Dean's breath began to hitch again, and he curled in on himself, as a violent fit of five consecutive sneezes proceeded to burst out of him. When he was finally finished, Dean let out a shaky sigh as he lowered himself back in the bed, his hand cradling his head over his right eye. 

 

Sam couldn't stay quiet about this any longer. " _Jesus_ , Dean. What the hell is wrong with you, man?" 

 

Dean appeared genuinely confused as he looked up at Sam with those goddamn swollen, puffy eyes. "What?" 

 

"What do you mean _'what'?"_ Sam flung his arms in the air towards his brother. "I mean....come _on_ man, look at yourself! You're practically non-functional like this." 

 

Dean shot Sam a look as if he'd just been bitch-slapped in the face. An angry glare flashed across his eyes, as he pulled himself out of bed. "You know what? Screw you, Sam." Dean strode past Sam, intentionally knocking him hard in the shoulder as he huffed past him. "Non-functional, my ass," he mumbled, as he started throwing several odds-and-ends into his bag. "Bullshit. I can do my fucking job, Sam." 

 

Sam was momentarily taken aback by his brother's vehement reaction. "I didn't say you couldn't do your job, Dean." Sam felt his face growing red with frustration, as he crumpled up the empty doughnut box, and threw it away with unnecessary zeal, nearly knocking the trashcan over. "I wasn't trying to take a dig at you, you dumbass. I'm just....I'm worried about you, man. If you're feeling this crappy, you shouldn't feel bad about-" 

 

"-Oh _come on_. Will you stop being so freakin' over-dramatic about this? It's allergies, Sam. _Allergies_. It's not like I have the fucking plague or something. It's _nothing."_ Dean suddenly stopped what he was doing and rubbed a hand over his chest, as all of his energy appeared to suddenly drain out of him. Then, Dean coughed into his shoulder a few times, and took in a long, deep breath. He then glanced up at Sam with an almost-apologetic look behind his eyes. "Look dude, I appreciate the concern. I do. But I'll be alright. I took some stuff earlier that'll be kicking in soon. Then I'll be golden, I promise." Dean gave Sam a rough pat on the shoulder, then sat down and threw his legs up onto the table. 

 

"So, come on now. Finish telling me everything you've found out about this case. Don't leave anything out, dude. Then we'll lay out our game plan on this, alright?" 

 

Sam was at a complete loss at this point. He almost believed Dean's little speech about how Sam was overreacting to all of this, almost. But Sam knew that he wasn't. He wanted to call Dean out on his bullshit, tell him that the only 'game plan' they should be working on was how to get Dean feeling healthy again. Oh, and while he was at it, he wanted to tell Dean that working on this 'case' was a monumental waste of time and brainpower, and there was no reason at all to believe that anything supernatural was going on in this stupid town. 

 

But instead, he sat down, and told Dean everything that he'd been able to find out about the drowning victims so far. And he didn't leave anything out.


End file.
